No amount of experiences you hear about, read about, talk about can prepare you for what to expect when you go through a miscarriage. As women, we keep it quiet. We swallow the pain, the loss and move forward because we’re resilient, because people depend on us, because we have one million responsibilities. We don’t have time to feel it… to truly feel it.
The first time it really hit me that I was going to miscarry, it felt like an out of body experience; a bad dream that I was going to wake up from and realize that everything was okay, that all the pregnancy symptoms I was feeling were real. I stared at the ultrasound screen praying I’d see a heartbeat. I can still hear the doctor say, “I’m sorry but you are going to miscarry” followed up by, “please see the receptionist to schedule your D & E.” I couldn’t even breathe let alone get myself together enough to schedule a D & E. For doctors, miscarriages are routine, but for me… my heart was shattered.
I went home and did what every sane person should do… google. I googled all the articles, the blogs, anything I could find that provided hope. The doctor was wrong. I’ll give it a few weeks and I’ll demand an ultrasound and a heartbeat will appear. I was convinced my story will have a miracle, I needed this miracle to work after the year my family had.
When my body started the process of miscarrying, it was unlike anything for which I could prepare. It was easily one of the most painful things I’ve experienced and I had been in labor before. I was willing to put my body through this in hopes of a miracle that didn’t happen, at least not yet.
This was not my last miscarriage, not even close. Each one brought its own hope followed by its own devastation. Each one left me numb and depressed. Each one tore apart my body; but nevertheless, I kept moving forward. People don’t know what to say, you don’t know how to feel. Once enough time has passed, everyone else moves on, except you. You think about what could have been, what would have been, the due dates, the birthdays. It’s been a year, two years, three years, when should I let it go? When’s the appropriate time to move on? After my 5th miscarriage I felt like a broken record. It became routine to me, what to expect, what to do…I just stopped talking about it.
What I wish I did, what I wish I knew, from my broken heart to another broken heart… time does bring healing. Your loss is not in vain. It has a purpose, though you may never know the exact reason. It may be to come along side someone who is grieving, to appreciate the miracle of life or to be reminded how amazing your circle is. You don’t forget. The pain doesn’t disappear, but eventually it becomes easier. Dates become numbers again and not milestones. You learn to feel again. Talk about your pain, let yourself feel the loss, take as much time as YOU need to process and grieve. You don’t always have to be strong; you can let yourself be vulnerable. Know that you are not alone and you couldn’t prevent it. Find your community, lean on them. If you don’t have anyone, find me.